I am so fortunate as to count Shamrock Jolnes, the great New York detective, among my muster of friends.Jolnes is what is called the "inside man" of the city detective force.He is an expert in the use of the typewriter, and it is his duty, whenever there is a "murder mystery"to be solved, to sit at a desk telephone at headquarters and take down the messages of "cranks" who 'phone in their confessions to having committed the crime.
But on certain "off" days when confessions are coming in slowly and three or four newspapers have run to earth as many different guilty persons, Jolnes will knock about the town with me, exhibiting, to my great delight and instruction, his marvellous powers of observation and deduction.
The other day I dropped in at Headquarters and found the great detective gazing thoughtfully at a string that was tied tightly around his little finger.
"Good morning, Whatsup," he said, without turning his head."I'm glad to notice that you've had your house fitted up with electric lights at last.""Will you please tell me," I said, in surprise, "how you knew that? I am sure that I never mentioned the fact to any one, and the wiring was a rush order not completed until this morning.""Nothing easier," said Jolnes, genially."As you came in I caught the odour of the cigar you are smoking.I know an expensive cigar; and I know that not more than three men in New York can afford to smoke cigars and pay gas bills too at the present time.That was an easy one.But I am working just now on a little problem of my own.""Why have you that string on your finger?" I asked.
"That's the problem," said Jolnes."My wife tied that on this morning to remind me of something I was to send up to the house.Sit down, Whatsup, and excuse me for a few moments."The distinguished detective went to a wall telephone, and stood with the receiver to his ear for probably ten minutes.
"Were you listening to a confession?" I asked, when he had returned to his chair.
"Perhaps," said Jolnes, with a smile, "it might be called something of the sort.To be frank with you, Whatsup, I've cut out the dope.I've been increasing the quantity for so long that morphine doesn't have much effect on me any more.I've got to have something more powerful.That telephone I just went to is connected with a room in the Waldorf where there's an author's reading in progress.Now, to get at the solution of this string."After five minutes of silent pondering, Jolnes looked at me, with a smile, and nodded his head.
"Wonderful man!" I exclaimed; "already?"
"It is quite ******," he said, holding up his finger."You see that knot? That is to prevent my forgetting.It is, therefore, a forget-me-knot.A forget-me-not is a flower.It was a sack of flour that I was to send home!""Beautiful!" I could not help crying out in admiration.
"Suppose we go out for a ramble," suggested Jolnes.
"There is only one case of importance on hand just now.Old man McCarty, one hundred and four years old, died from eating too many bananas.The evidence points so strongly to the Mafia that the police have surrounded the Second Avenue Katzenjammer Gambrinus Club No.2, and the capture of the assassin is only the matter of a few hours.The detective force has not yet been called on for assistance."Jolnes and I went out and up the street toward the corner, where we were to catch a surface car.
Half-way up the block we met Rheingelder, an acquaintance of ours, who held a City Hall position.
"Good morning, Rheingelder," said Jolnes, halting.
"Nice breakfast that was you had this morning." Always on the lookout for the detective's remarkable feats of deduction, I saw Jolnes's eye flash for an instant upon a long yellow splash on the shirt bosom and a smaller one upon the chin of Rheingelder -- both undoubtedly made by the yolk of an egg.
"Oh, dot is some of your detectiveness," said Rheingelder, shaking all over with a smile."Vell, I pet you trinks und cigars all round dot you cannot tell vot I haf eaten for breakfast.""Done," said Jolnes."Sausage, pumpernickel and coffee."Rheingelder admitted the correctness of the surmise and paid the bet.
When we had proceeded on our way I said to Jolnes:
"I thought you looked at the egg spilled on his chin and shirt front.""I did," said Jolnes."That is where I began my deduction.Rheingelder is a very economical, saving man.Yesterday eggs dropped in the market to twenty-eight cents per dozen.To-day they are quoted at forty-two.
Rheingelder ate eggs yesterday, and to-day he went back to his usual fare.A little thing like this isn't anything, Whatsup; it belongs to the primary arithmetic class."When we boarded the street car we found the seats all occupied --principally by ladies.Jolnes and I stood on the rear platform.
About the middle of the car there sat an elderly man with a short, gray beard, who looked to be the typical, well-dressed New Yorker.At successive corners other ladies climbed aboard, and soon three or four of them were standing over the man, clinging to straps and glaring meaningly at the man who occupied the coveted seat.But he resolutely retained his place.
"We New Yorkers," I remarked to Jolnes, "have about lost our manners, as far as the exercise of them in public goes.""Perhaps so," said Jolnes, lightly; "but the man you evidently refer to happens to be a very chivalrous and courteous gentleman from Old Virginia.He is spending a few days in New York with his wife and two daughters, and he leaves for the South to-night.""You know him, then?" I said, in amazement.
"I never saw him before we stepped on the car," declared the detective, smilingly.
